Chapter 17 - The Last Fitting
One year after the first pearl-headed pin ruined the French silk, Lorenzo arrived at Hayes Bespoke carrying flowers.
Peonies.
Meline stared.
“You researched those twelve months ago.”
“I have an excellent memory.”
“You called three florists.”
“Isabella talks too much.”
The shop had changed.
Not dramatically.
Meline resisted unnecessary change.
But Evelyn’s photograph now hung beside a photograph of the new craft center.
The green velvet chair remained near the window.
Lorenzo still sat in it as though it belonged to him.
Technically, Meline supposed, he had spent enough hours there to qualify for partial ownership.
“What needs altering?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Can’t a man visit?”
“Not carrying a garment bag.”
Lorenzo placed it on the table.
Inside was the navy suit she had made for his testimony.
“The jacket pulls.”
“You gained weight.”
“I prefer stronger.”
“You gained weight.”
“Muscle.”
“Pasta.”
“Hostile working environment.”
Meline smiled.
“Put it on.”
He did.
She circled him.
The jacket did pull slightly.
Not because he had gained much weight.
Because he stood differently.
Less tension in the shoulders.
Less guarding around the chest.
“You changed posture.”
“Is that possible?”
“Yes.”
She pinned the seam.
“You’re less defensive.”
“Expensive therapy.”
“Good.”
“And you.”
“What about me?”
“You changed.”
Meline raised an eyebrow.
“Dangerous territory.”
“You’re happier.”
Her hands stopped.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
She looked around Hayes.
Maybe.
A year earlier she had measured happiness by survival.
Rent paid.
Orders completed.
No disasters.
Now happiness had texture.
Coffee with Lorenzo.
Arguing with Isabella.
Nina singing terribly downstairs.
Apprentices filling classrooms.
Dinner without scanning doors.
A man who occasionally asked instead of assuming.
“Yes,” Meline admitted.
“I am.”
Lorenzo smiled.
The fitting continued.
Then he asked, “Do you remember the first question?”
“Which one?”
“The hands.”
Meline laughed.
“You destroyed six hundred dollars of silk.”
“You stabbed the silk.”
“Because you asked a ridiculous question.”
“Was it sincere or creepy?”
“Both.”
“That seems unfair.”
“Life.”
He looked nervous.
Meline noticed.
Of course she noticed.
Bodies confessed.
His left thumb rubbed the side of his index finger.
He did that before difficult conversations.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
He looked toward the window.
“Meline.”
“Yes?”
“Would you ever marry again?”
Her hand stopped.
Meline had been married once.
Briefly.
She rarely discussed it.
A college relationship turned engagement turned three-year marriage.
No betrayal.
No villain.
Just two people becoming strangers.
“Maybe.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“That is not a no.”
“No.”
Silence.
“Why are you asking?”
“Theoretical woman.”
Meline burst out laughing.
Lorenzo smiled.
“You brought her back?”
“She never left.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been told.”
Meline removed the pins.
“The fitting is done.”
“Already?”
“You barely needed anything.”
“That feels disappointing.”
“You can pay anyway.”
“Obviously.”
He lingered.
Meline pretended to organize thread.
Finally Lorenzo said, “Dinner tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Seven?”
“Yes.”
“Wear something you like.”
She turned.
“I always wear something I like.”
“Right.”
“Why are you behaving strangely?”
“I’m naturally strange.”
“No.”
He kissed her cheek.
“Seven.”
Then escaped.
Meline watched him leave.
Nina emerged instantly from the back.
“What is he doing?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know.”
“I suspect.”
Nina gasped.
“Proposal?”
“Quiet.”
“Oh my God.”
“Nina.”
“What are you wearing?”
“I don’t know.”
“You own a tailoring business.”
“That makes choosing worse.”
At six-thirty, Meline stood in her apartment wearing a dark green dress she had made herself.
Not slimming.
She hated that word.
Not designed to hide.
Designed because she loved the way the fabric moved.
At seven, Lorenzo arrived.
No black SUV.
He drove himself.
“Where are we going?”
“Dinner.”
“You are an awful liar.”
“I’ve been improving honesty.”
“Not deception.”
They drove past the restaurant district.
Then past Beacon Hill.
Finally Meline realized.
“Hayes?”
Lorenzo parked outside her shop.
The windows were dark.
“What are we doing?”
“Come inside.”
The shop lights turned on as they entered.
No people.
No decorations.
No photographer.
Nothing theatrical.
Only the cutting table.
Green velvet chair.
Rain beginning softly outside.
And on the table, one piece of dark French silk.
Meline stopped.
“You found the same fabric.”
“Yes.”
“That mill discontinued it.”
“I called Paris.”
She looked at him.
“Of course you did.”
Beside the silk sat a pearl-headed pin.
Lorenzo’s hands shook.
Meline’s heart began pounding.
He did not kneel.
Not yet.
Instead he stood across from her exactly where he had stood the afternoon everything changed.
“For six weeks,” he said, “I came into this shop pretending I needed fittings.”
“You did need fittings.”
“Not twelve.”
“True.”
“I asked you questions because I didn’t know how to tell you I liked you without ruining the one place where nobody expected me to be anything.”
Meline’s eyes filled.
“You insulted every line.”
“They were terrible.”
“They were researched.”
“They were terrible.”
He smiled.
“You made me want something I had no language for.”
“What?”
“A life.”
Her breath caught.
“Not escape. Not retirement. Not hiding.”
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“A life where I could be wrong without someone being afraid to tell me. Where dinner could just be dinner. Where a room could be quiet because it was peaceful.”
Meline was crying now.
“And where somebody keeps telling me my shoulders are uneven.”
“They are.”
“See?”
He laughed.
Then his expression became serious.
“Meline, I have one final line.”
She wiped her eyes.
“Better be good.”
“I practiced.”
“Of course you did.”
“On Isabella.”
Meline’s mouth dropped.
“You did what?”
From somewhere outside came muffled laughter.
Meline turned toward the window.
Isabella’s silhouette disappeared beneath it.
“You invited people?”
“They are across the street.”
“That woman is dead.”
“Afterward.”
May you like
Lorenzo finally lowered himself onto one knee.
And Meline Hayes, who once believed he had spent six weeks practicing love lines on her for another woman, realized he had spent another six weeks practicing one question because this time he could not afford to get it wrong.
